


The Meaning of Home

by TheBohemian



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, I don't know how to tag this, M/M, Multi, Smut, Teenagers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-09
Updated: 2014-07-01
Packaged: 2018-01-23 23:50:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1583942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBohemian/pseuds/TheBohemian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean's family moves around a lot, and Jean can't stand it. At first, Trost is everything he could ever hate about a new town, but as time passes he realizes that this change might not be such a bad thing after all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Move

**Author's Note:**

> I just really love this pairing a lot and they make my soul happy.

We moved again. A-fucking-gain. In my 16 years of life, my family had moved a grand total of six times, and this time I was pissed. I was livid; I probably could’ve taken down an entire army if given the chance. Unfortunately, I hadn’t been given the chance, leaving me with the only option of pouting and sitting helplessly in the back of the family’s too fucking expensive sedan with what I hope to be a scowl stained on my face. Occasionally, mom would stop packing boxes into the back of the nearest mover's truck just to pinch my cheek and tell me I’d be fine; I’d like it where we were going.

Doubt it, mom. Seriously fucking doubt it.

I liked where we already lived. It was a nice little town, with a nice little name, and nice little people crowded the streets with happy, stupid little smiles. I mean, it wasn’t exactly my type of place, obviously. It was really more of a gigantic hole where the elderly gathered post-retirement, but we’d lived there the longest amount of time - 5 years, and it had kind of grown on me. The worst part of the whole thing was that this time I’d met someone who kind of resembled a friend, and that was some sort of miracle in itself.

I had a hard time making friends. Hell if I know why, I mean do you not see this optimistic and smiley demeanor? I’d befriend the hell out of me. I don't really mesh so well with people though, and 16 year old me sure as hell didn't even try to mesh. People get hurt too easily, and I don’t have a niceness filter, and that stopped relationships from blossoming every time. But, Armin handled it, handled _me_ , fantastically. He was a good guy. He didn’t mind when I said hurtful things; he only smiled and said ‘I know, Jean.’ when I would try to backpedal and avoid an apology while still attempting to apologize. He knew; he understood. He was my friend, and the thought of leaving him behind hurt like hell. I’d considered packing him away, but he convinced me that it would be a bad idea because he’d probably die. I supposed the only thing worse than an Armin left behind would be a dead Armin in my suitcase.

When I told him I was moving, we both cried like fucking toddlers. Granted, Armin cries like that every day anyway, so I’d grown to ignore it, but this time, seeing him cry over me, seeing him cry because I was crying first, it cut me deep. It felt like my parents had dug a knife deep in my gut and twisted the handle with every passing thought of the town, the people, the friends. I’d begged them, pleaded, and bargained trying to gain some kind of ground on my argument to stay.

They didn’t care. Of course they didn’t. Mom tried to pass it off as if it would be good for the family. Bonding time, and new adventures, all that crap. Dad didn’t even spare me a passing glance when he broke the news. I’d been trotting my way down stairs, minding my own business, backpack slung over my shoulder, and on my way to school when he dropped the bomb.

“We’re moving. Begin packing when you get home,” that’s all he said as he passed me on the stairs, eyes trained on the newspaper in his hands. I sputtered and argued and even grabbed at the paper to get his attention as my bag fell on the floor with a hard thud. I demanded he tell me why, but all that led to was being hit by said newspaper and being told to go to school. So that’s what I did.

In sixteen short years, I’d learned to never argue with the man who presented himself to be my father. We was anything but. He lived in the same household, and I unfortunately bared a resemblance to him, but that was as far as our relationship went. I hated him. I would argue with anyone out of rage, but not my dad. I wouldn’t do that until I was feeling particularly suicidal.

Anyway, enough of my personal bullshit, by the second week of August, we had relocated to a town called Trost. It sucked. Our house was downsized, and we lived in a row of townhouses in a stuffy neighborhood filled with even more old people. As if that wasn’t enough, my bedroom was situated in a weird ass place in the house, and the view from my single window consisted only of the neighboring house. That was it. My window directly faced the neighbor’s bedroom window. Yeah, that couldn’t possibly lead to any awkward situations.

I made a mental note to contact the architect in give him a piece of my mind.

A few days passed in the new house before I finally decided to put effort into unpacking. My parents had so very helpfully shoved all of my shit in my bedroom and left it there. I’d considered just leaving it there. We’d move again soon enough anyway, but I was starting to need new clothes and sleeping in my jeans sucked, so I had to take one for the team and just flippin’ deal with it.

My life consisted of dealing with it. My happiness as the least of the family’s concerns. My appearance to the public was what mattered, so my best appearance is what they got. They never managed to drag a smile out of me though, not a single one.

On Wednesday, August 22nd, school started and I, despite myself, was absolutely terrified. I’d laid out my best clothes to wear in the morning. I’d messed with my hair countless times, unable to decide if I looked presentable or not. Because of my fixation on how I looked, I’d made myself late and had to literally run to school. Mom called a half hearted “have a good day” in my wake. Dad never even looked up from that newspaper. Stupid fucking newspaper.

Though I wasn’t a particularly athletic person, I could run rather quickly and I made it to school with more time than I thought I’d have. Sometimes, I wanted to believe there was a God on my side for times like these. I wanted to believe in small miracles, so I did. I needed them.

Running was probably not the best course of action in hindsight, and that was made apparent by my breathless entrance in the building, flushed cheeks, sweaty brow, strange looks from students I didn’t recognize, which only, unhelpfully, made my cheeks flush even more violently. As people passed, they disregarded my presence. I was used to this. No one ever goes out of their way to talk to the new kid, unless your name is Armin Arlert. Whatever. I didn’t need them anyway. Armin had offered my his phone number and Skype username before I’d left, so that we could talk any time. I didn’t need these kids.

I didn’t want to need them, at least.

It took me a solid ten minutes to find my locker through the bustling hallways filled with unhelpful students who only smirked and watched as I hurriedly passed, class schedule in hand. _No, it’s fine guys, don’t help. Can’t you tell I’m managing wonderfully on my own?_ I had so much to say to my punk ass peers, but for once I was able to keep my mouth shut and keep walking, eyes trained on the schedule and nothing else. For a sickening moment, I felt like my father with my face glued to the paper in my hands, and hastily decided that my schedule was much better off in my back pocket and away from my eyes.

Finding my locker had been one challenge, opening it was something entirely different. My old school didn’t even have lockers, much less those stupid fucking combination locks. Of all the kids in that entire school, only one freckle-faced dork offered to help with the lock, but, of course, my pride couldn’t have any of that and I’d excused him less than politely. Guilt twinged in my stomach when he stuttered out an "o-okay," before hastily retreating down the hallway. I shoved the feeling away to the back of my mind. He probably didn’t want to actually help anyway. He was probably just going to make fun of me for not knowing how to do something so simple. Screw him and his stupid freckles.

By the time I’d finally managed to find my first class, I was amazed to find that I was only ten minutes late. It was one of those little miracles again that gave me a feeling that resembled something like contentment. That feeling was quickly crushed when our teacher (I'd had no idea what his name was at first as I'd conveniently missed introductions) instructed me to sit beside a dark skinned boy who wore a frown practically identical to mine. The raised name tag in front of him said ‘EREN JAEGER’ in messy handwriting. He wrote his name in all caps. I rolled my eyes, _as if you’re that important_ I thought in his general direction as I took my seat.

He looked at me through the corner of his eye and smirked before turning his gaze elsewhere. I fidgeted uncomfortably and slumped in my chair, chin resting in raised palm.

“Write your name on the empty tag,” he spoke lightly, his tone was somewhat friendly. More friendly than the others I’d met. Freckle-face appeared in the back of my mind and, fuck, there was that guilt again. Jaeger had been talking through my thoughts, and I’d missed every single damn thing he’d said.

“What?” I whispered, cutting his sentence straight in half.

His eyebrows furrowed together. “Are you deaf or what,” he retorted, leaning back in his seat with arms folded over his chest.

As I opened my mouth to respond, I was cut short when the rather small, but hugely intimidating instructor appeared before our conjoined desks, hooded eyes set in a stern glare, jaw locked in irritation. “Do you have something to say?” He asked, and the class turned deathly quiet. Jaeger’s mouth relaxed into a casual grin.

I was barely able to contain the urge to shove the smug bastard out of his chair. I wasn’t a fan of this Eren Jaeger kid already. “I, no, I-I don't have anything to say, sir,” I finally managed, scarcely able to maintain eye contact with the small man.

“Rivaille,” he corrected me, “now shut the hell up and be a proper student. Is that so hard to understand?”

I shook my head violently.

He turned on his heels and picked up in the middle of the sentence he had left off on when Jaeger and I had caught his attention. I huffed a sigh.

“Name tag,” Eren whispered, eyes trained forward.

I took in a heaving breath and grit my teeth, _Fine_ , I said inwardly, _name tag. Got it. Fucking got it. I’m glad to know this thing is so god damn important._

I took much more time writing my name than Eren apparently had and it showed when they were put side by side. My neat script and flowing letters of “Jean Kirsctein” blew his dumb name tag out of the water. Good.

The rest of my day, after the horror of French, consisted of math, science, leadership, and worst of all, P.E. It wasn’t the worst subject because of the physical education aspect, I could play sports. It was the worst subject of the day because Freckle-face was there, looking pitiful, but marginally happy nonetheless. Jaeger and his ragtag group of friends were in the same class as well. I’m also pretty sure that the blonde Hulk was our coach. He towered over everyone of us with muscles bulging from beneath a too-tight school issued shirt. He was even missing an arm. What a fucking bad ass.

As soon as the last bell of the day rang, I was out. I literally could not leave the building fast enough, though I’m not sure why I wanted to leave so badly. I mean, let’s be honest, all I could do was barricade myself in my room and angrily stare at blank walls until I fell asleep, that’s how my days had been spent recently, so there was no need to break tradition.

I shoved a couple people of of my way, earning myself a few angry curses and threats, but no one followed me out of the gym, unfortunately. I kind of wanted a fight in one sense; rebellion was what I was good at. It earned the attention of my folks, peers, and teachers alike. Sometimes black eyes are worth it in that sense. But, that didn’t happen, so I brushed it off like a man and went on with my business.

For one stupid moment, I actually stopped outside of the high school and looked at the cars filing into the school parking lot. Eager parents retrieved their children and animatedly talked about the big first day as they left. I almost tricked myself into believing that maybe my mom would come to get me just out of kindness, but no. The hope that had filled me was laughable. My own naivety made me roll my eyes as I wandered off the school campus, feet dragging, eyes downcast.

Groups of kids pushed past me, joined at the hips, as they made their ways back home, laughing, smiling, and conversing all the while. I sent them all useless, selfish, pointed glares and kicked a small pebble into a nearby street grate. When my phone chimed, I almost jumped out of my skin.

I shoved my hand in my pocket. _Act cool, Jean_ , I scolded myself, _act like people talking to you is a normal thing. Show these people you have friends._ I was kind of an idiot as a teenager, what can I say.

At first, I was disappointed. My heart deflated immediately when the only notification I had received was for an hourly weather update. Still, I unlocked my phone just to give myself something to do as I walked. Three unread messages sat in my inbox and the smile that fell on my lips was undeniable, though kind of embarrassing.

**From: Armin  
First day of school!!! Have a good day, alright? Don’t frown all the time, Jean!**

**From: Armin  
Jean?? This is Jean isn’t it? So help me if you gave me the wrong number. Message me back, please.**

**From Armin:  
School’s over now!! I’ve been watching the clock. Answer me!**

 

I considered not answering at all, or being exceptionally mean and pretending he did, in fact, have the wrong number just to watch him flounder, but I wanted to talk to him too badly for all that, so I gave in and replied with more haste than I’d like to admit.

 

**To: Armin  
jesus dude chill out. you act like not hearing from me is something new.**

His reply came two minutes later. Yes, I counted. No, I was not eagerly awaiting it.

 

**From: Armin  
Well, sorry for thinking about you.**

**From: Armin  
So, back to the topic at hand: school. Did you make friends? Did you at least try to smile, Jean? You know you look terrifying when you don’t smile.**

**To: Armin  
that’s the point, bowl cut**

 

It only took a few seconds for Armin to call, and I took even less time to answer.

“It’s _not_ a bowl cut,” he stated defensively as his way of greeting.

“Yeah, okay, Coconut Head, if it helps you sleep at night, you keep feeding yourself those lies.”

We bickered shamelessly, and the weight in my chest that had built throughout the day vanished as we talked. I told him that school sucked, and he assured me that it wasn’t much better back at Wall Rose. Now that we were both friendless losers, we had all the time in the world to sulk about life in general. This was how I coped, and how we both got by.

Armin and I had more things in common than I wanted to admit. From the outside looking in, we were polar opposites, made painstakingly obvious by my suave looks and ability woo the ladies, and his not-so-suave, 10-year-old looking self. We made it work, though. His parents had died when he was young, and my parents just didn’t notice me. We were both realists. We thought logically and thrived on being right for both the benefits of ourselves and others. He had low self esteem, and I had no self esteem at all. We worked well. We were a team constructed of flaws, and we worked.

I found myself sitting on the front stoop of the new house into the late hours of the evening. The sun was setting and my ear burned from being on the phone for so long. The phone itself was practically on fire in my palm. I would have talked forever had Armin not left the call for something unimportant. I think he needed food or something. I don’t know. I just let him hang up and dragged myself inside. The house was silent though everyone was home. Mom sat in the kitchen armed with a bottle of wine, and I assumed that dad had barred himself in the study. Whatever. Home sweet home.

I closed my bedroom door with a soft click and fell against it. The pain in my chest was back ten-fold. I slid down the door slowly, allowing my head to thud against the solid wooden slab. My stomach churned and my eyes burned. Reality was such a fucking bitch.

I rubbed at my eyes pointlessly, turning them an angry red color and smearing unshed tears across my cheeks. With much effort, and after an extended period of time, I heaved myself off the wooden floor and wandered over to my useless window with a terrible view. It took more effort than I’d like to admit trying to open that window. I didn’t focus on upper-body strength, okay, I ran, and that thing was god damn heavy.

When it finally budged open just wide enough for me to squeeze through, I rejoiced silently. There was a small ledge there just below the window. The neighbouring window had an identical ledge which barely kissed the edge of mine. _How sweet_ , I thought bitterly as I stepped out onto the platform. Part of me wondered if it would collapse under my weight, but the overwhelming majority of my being couldn’t care less if it did. I didn’t want to die, really I didn’t. I didn't even want to get hurt. I just tended to depend on danger to supply a sense of joy, thrill, and adrenaline. Dying was never the goal, I just wanted to feel what it meant to be alive. The structure didn’t budge once all of my weight had been placed on it, though, and I wasn’t really sure how I felt about that. I sat slowly, cautiously, with my body turned to face the street and away from the window straight ahead, because staring at that glass pane just seemed really fucking rude.

I’m extremely courteous, you see.

I don’t know how long I was out there, really. Neither of my parents came to check on me; they just went to sleep, ignoring my closed door as they passed, I guess. That was fine though; I’m not really sure how they would have felt about me sitting on an old dilapidated ledge where even the shingles were having problems with not plummeting two stories below. Probably something between apathy and mild irritation.

I’d become so wrapped up in my own pity party, that I’d failed to notice the face peaking through the curtains of the neighboring window pane. I sure as fuck noticed it when I glanced back though. I think my heart stopped for a second or five. I jumped and squealed like a fucking girl, all while clutching my chest. Seriously, I think I was on the verge of a heart attack. The boy behind the glass apparently found this hilarious as he cracked a smile and laughed openly.

“Yeah, fuck you too, buddy. Real funny,” I managed through erratic breaths. I didn’t think I’d ever calm down after a scare like that, my heart hammered and I think my eyes bugged out of my skull, leaving me to rub them uncomfortably. The alleyways between the townhouses were sketchy as fuck, okay, I’m no pussy. It was just the setting and bad timing. You try being in your own zone only to be scared the fuck out of it by a grown ass man with his head pressed creepily against a window, watching you. Just try it.

With some - a lot of - effort, the guy finally managed to wedge his window open. I didn't feel so bad for the previous battle with my own window anymore.

The smile was still plastered on his stupid face and I recognized him instantly. Suddenly, I didn’t feel so bad for yelling at Frecke-face to leave me alone that morning. What an asshole.

"You're practically the reverse of a peeping Tom, you know that?" I asked irritably, still suffering from my heart nearly exploding.

He laughed and laid his arms on his window sill, his head was poking out of the frame. He looked right past me and concentrated on the street below. The sun was beginning to sink beyond the horizon and the sky burned with intense reds which faded into glowing pinks. Dimly lit clouds dotted the sky. He hummed softly.

"I hadn't quite thought of it that way," he responded lightly.

I had no response, so I just stayed quiet. I wanted him to leave me alone to my sulking and my stupid rickety piece of awning, but he just couldn't let me have that, now could he?

No, of course not.

"I'm Marco Bodt," he said after a prolonged silence.

I huffed as a form of response.  _And I'm trying to figure out why you think I care._

He decided to look away from the street and his soft brown eyes met mine. The light from the sinking sun left his features deeply shaded and glowing all at the same time. 

"Jean," I finally said. I couldn't be rude to him, not when he was looking at me. He seemed so delicate and friendly to a fault. It wasn't until then that I noticed a bruise blossoming beneath the collar of his shirt. I knew it wasn't my business, but I asked anyway, "what happened, dude?"

"Huh?" He looked at me with a blank expression, wide eyed and dazed for a moment. I nodded towards his collar, and he looked down slowly, gasping when he realized what I was motioning to. "Oh!" he exclaimed followed by a soft laugh. That permanent grin of his spread wider. "Well, see, in your haste to leave school today you kind of grabbed me and effectively _threw_ me at a wall. I actually think it's a thumb print." He sized his thumb to the bruise and nodded to himself before re-positioning his shirt to cover the darkening skin. "You have a good grip, I'll give you that."

"So, in a single day I told you to fuck off, and threw you into a wall?"

"Without even knowing my name," he commented lightly. He didn't seem angry; I doubted he even knew what the word 'angry' meant. I still felt kind of bad. Only kind of, though.

"I, uh, that's generally how I make first impressions," I rubbed at the back of my neck feeling my face warm in the darkness.

"By breaking both hearts and shoulders?" He questioned, eyebrow raised slightly.

I looked away towards the street and cleared my throat forcefully, "violence is key."

He didn't reprimand me, he didn't correct me, and he didn't even look taken aback. He only nodded and rubbed a hand over his mouth as he began to retreat back into the comfort of his own home. "I'll have to keep that in mind," he commented, looking over his shoulder for a brief moment before returning his attention to me, "I'll leave you alone now," he whispered, "I just wanted to say hello while you looked relatively peaceful. A-and you won't catch me staring at you through my curtains again tonight," he added quickly, gnawing on his lower lip.  "Scout's honor," he covered his heart with his fist in some sort of salute. 

A deep blush spread across his face, and I noticed that the dark freckles even stood out with no light to illuminate them. Before I could even consider stopping myself, I smiled. "Just give me a fucking warning or something next time, dude."

He nodded. "I'll knock three times and hoot like a barn owl to announce my arrival."

"Please don't tell me you would actually do something that ridiculous."

"Guess you'll have to find out," he said with a passive shrug before closing the window securely.

Once I was alone in the dark again I found myself biting my cheek, rubbing my neck, and fidgeting much more than normal, all the while this stupid fucking grin wouldn't leave my face alone. This Marco kid was of a unique breed, that was for sure.

Mosquitoes began to buzz around me along with a posse of equally annoying insects and only then did I decide it was time to retreat back inside. As I turned unsteadily to crawl back inside, my eye caught something that was taped to the inside of the neighboring window.

 A white sheet of copy paper was pressed against the glass, and in large handwriting, right in the center of the page, were the words 'Goodnight, John.'

I rolled my eyes and hurried inside to grab some writing utensils of my own. Unfortunately, all I could find was a pink highliter to write with, but I decided that if he really wanted to read it badly enough he'd read it through the darkness. It was his vision that would be suffering, after all, not mine.

'Jean*' I wrote simply and stuck it just behind the blinds.

 

For some reason, sleep did not come easily to me that night. I was restless, and found that pacing the upper level of the townhouse was all I could do to kill time. Armin was already asleep, the fucking nerd, it was only midnight, but I refused to bother him. There's that courtesy I was talking about. 

Around one a.m. I finally decided that laying down would probably help with the whole sleeping process, but before I made it to my bed, I peaked, curiously, behind my blinds. A new note was hanging in Marco's window and I think I may have let out a slightly excited manly giggle. Emphasis on manly. 

'Oh how fancy,' it read, 'oh how foreign. :)'

I plucked the paper from behind my window, flipped it over and wrote a hurried, 'Go to bed, nerdlet.'

Not even ten minutes later, the light in Marco's room died and, soon after, I fell back into my bed with a lightheaded dizziness. I fell asleep happily that night. For the first time in weeks, I felt peace. I felt at ease. I felt like I may like calling this place home after all. 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean realizes how deeply involved he's become with Marco and it spells the beginning of the end for him, leaving Marco to suffer the consequences.

During the weeks that followed my first real contact with Marco Bodt, my entire life changed for the best. He showed me compassion and undying loyalty mixed with the hints of real, actual friendship that should only be found in shitty chick flicks. I fell asleep peacefully every night. I no longer needed to stare at blank walls or think to clear my head. I didn't need to stuff my emotions or hide all those skeletons. When I was with him, I didn't feel like I was a burden or that I was a disappointment. It just felt really fucking good, and really I don't think there's any way to describe a friendship like that.

It ignited quickly, and we got on like fire and gasoline. We sparked immediately and our flame was all consuming.

By the end of September, we no longer paid attention to the time spent out on the rooftops as we gazed at stars, passing cars, lonely people, and secretly each other. We talked, and laughed, and joked with surprising ease. I'd never grown so attached to someone in my life, especially not in such a short period of time. But, Marco, he was something different, and he made me different. He was the world's sweetest and most exclusive drug and I wanted to hold onto him like he was the finest of golds and the richest of gems. That didn't mean he had to know though.

On the night of September 25th, I realized I was in way too fucking deep, and let me tell you, it was way too fucking late to try and escape. He washed over me like a tidal wave, and I willingly let myself drown.

Everything had started out by following our normal schedule. We met out on the ledges at midnight on the dot, just to be sure that both families were very much asleep, but he had carried out text books and note cards to join in our gathering that night. Apparently he'd had some kind of math test the next day or something, I don't know. All I know is that those school supplies sparked the beginning of the end for platonic normalcy because I couldn't just let him study, oh no, no, why would I let that happen? Instead, I tried my damnedest to do every distracting thing in my power.

It had started out innocently enough. I would knock the pen out of his hand, flip the pages in his text books, throw pieces of broken shingles at him; I was a notorious pest, and being annoying came without effort. I earned an occasional laugh, a ton of those smiles that made my stomach do flips, and more than my fair share of paper balls to the face; those only egged me on further, naturally.

Feeling particularly brave, I moved in closer, hovering over his work and casting dark shadows through the reading light provided by a nearby street lamp. He looked up slowly, soft brown eyes gazing through thick lashes.

"Come on, Jean," he had pouted, I swear to God it as a full blown man-pout, "I'm gonna fail. Go." He waved his hand dismissively, his fingers bumped against my chest in our proximity. 

I leaned in closer, equipped with a cocky smirk. I think I severely underestimated Marco's strength as well as his dedication to his work, so my confidence was severely misplaced when I whispered, "Make me."

He laughed and threw his text book from his lap. It tumbled off of the roof and hit the pavement below with a hard thud. Loose sheets of paper which had been tucked into the book's pages rained down as Marco grabbed the front of my shirt, completely lifting me and twirling me around to the edge of his window's platform. Slowly, he dipped me back. I tilted my head backward to gaze at the pavement below; the blood rushing to my skull brought on an instant headache, but the will to complain was completely lost when I realized just how high two stories was.

I tried to kick uselessly -he'd sat himself on my legs- and he didn't budge. "Marco," I'd tried for an even tone of voice. I failed. "C'mon, man. This isn't funny." My voice fluctuated somewhere between a groan and a high-pitched whine.

He lowered me further until my back was completely off the roof. He held the majority of my weight steadfastly, teetering me back and forth in the open air, and I choked on my own complaints. I felt his grip tighten in the front of my shirt. That made the situation only slightly easier to cope with. 

"I warned you." He said innocently. His voice was airy and bright was if he wasn't the only thing standing between me and certain death, or at least a very severe concussion with unstoppable bleeding. 

Marco leaned his torso forward and I caught the mild smile he wore before he yanked me back upright. I gasped and squeezed my eyes closed as I was pulled back to safety. When I opened my eyes, the situation was beyond my control. We sat nose to nose, looking directly into each other's eyes. My tongue suddenly felt thick and my heart rate felt erratic.  _It's just the adrenaline from staring death in the face_ , I had tried to rationalize with myself. God, that was such a shitty lie to want to believe.

"Don't you dare fucking drop me, Bodt" I muttered, hardly able to move my own lips for fear of brushing them against his.

"I don't plan on it," he whispered. I felt his breath on my skin, and, in that very moment, everything changed. At least it did for me. Marco, on the other hand, merely backed away from me and moved to lean over the awning, admiring the massive mess we'd made on the ground below.

"You're helping me pick this up," he said over his shoulder. He kept his gaze cast down into the alley and away from my deeply reddened, extremely flustered face. I appreciated that.

"Fuck you," I whispered, managing, somehow, to heave myself back onto unsteady feet. My knees wobbled and my blood rushed frantically through my veins, causing a slight dizziness which made me stumble and fall back into my own room. I hit the floor heavily, but scurried to my feet before the embarrassment could settle in and the pain could find me.

When he moved his gaze to meet mine through the open window I waved for him to step inside, avoiding eye contact of any kind. "Come on, then. Time for cleaning up because you don't know how to handle your school supplies properly."

"You're so graceful, Jean," he commented as he hesitantly stepped through the open window. "Have you considered taking up dancing as a part time hobby?" I avoided what he had to say bitterly.

"I'm pretty sure that alley is infested with hobos riddled with rabies."

"They don't have rabies," he argued, allowing me to step in front of him and lead the way out. His voice dropped to a whisper, "leprosy, maybe, but definitely not rabies."

 

We ran through the house quickly, armed with flashlights and dull kitchen knives to fend ourselves from the lepers. Gathering those notes took forever. _Jesus Christ, why did he have to be so studious?_ Our scene from the roof replayed in my mind a stupidly large amount of times, and each time I would feel a little more light headed than the time before. When I'd catch glimpses of Marco in his distracted state, mindlessly plucking papers from the gritty sidewalk, my mind would stall and my breath would catch in my throat. God, not only did I have feelings for my new best friend, but I had them  _bad._

When we parted ways, it was clumsy and awkward as he had his arms wrapped around mountains of untidy piles of papers and his textbook was splayed open across his chest. I twiddled my thumbs idly as I waited for him to disappear behind his own front door. We exchanged very few words.

After a few lingering moments outside, drawing in breaths of fresh air to calm my frayed nerves, I managed to lug myself back up the stairs, weighed down by thoughts of what could and would never be between that freckled idiot and myself. Out of habit, I sauntered to the window, intent on closing it for the night, but the new piece of paper hanging from the window across the way took all my attention in an instant.

'Didn't think you were so scared of heights, ha' it read in large, loopy letters, 'sleep tight, JEAN**."

I elected to leave my window cracked that night in hopes that the clean air would wipe all the dumb, giddy girl-feelings right out of my system. Unfortunately, I had no such luck.

 

I barely slept that night; I mostly lay in bed, staring at the ceiling and pretending that that could substitute as some form of sleep. Near the end of the night, I must have dozed off because when I woke up from my restless slumber, I was groggy as hell, and just as irritable. If someone had asked me my name in that very moment, I swear, I wouldn’t have been able to remember it, much less say it, but, for some reason, I remembered the check Marco’s window as if it was the most natural habit in the world.

The note was still the same one from the night before. I’m not sure what I was expecting, to be honest. It was only five in the morning, and school started in three hours and fifteen minutes. No one in their right mind woke up that early without reason.  Sadly for Marco, patience wasn't a virtue I was gifted with, and that meant I had to give my overly-friendly neighbor a reason to wake up. So, I did. 

I worked on opening my window wider as I mentally prepared mission 'Wake the Beast'. That thing was jammed in place; the builders had to have mounted it in fucking cement; there was no other logical explanation.  I would have to host an intervention for both the builders and the architect it seemed.

Ten minutes of heaving, shoving, and breaking a sweat earned a gap just large enough to sit in. The boy next door was extremely lucky, I guess, because my struggle earned him an extra few minutes of blissful, unsuspecting, sleepy tranquility. Seemed to me that he had a 'small miracles God' on his side too. 

My original plan was simple; I was going to pick a few small pebbles off the already-tattered shingles I'd at on the night before and throw them at his window until the sound woke him up. Simple. I didn't exactly account for the fact that Marco slept like the fucking dead, though.

After a while, I found myself sitting in the window sill, running low on both patience and ammo. Birds crowded on his rooftop and perched as if patiently awaiting his awakening. _What are you?_ I pondered, searching his window for some sort of explanation.  _A fucking Disney princess?_ When I received no reply, I not only questioned my sanity, but I, with an unnecessarily loud groan, stood on the ledge and rolled my shoulders back, wincing as they cracked in their sockets. 

"Alright, Cinderella," I grumbled, nodding my head toward his feathered friends before giving a pointed look at the house, "time to wake the hell up."

I swiveled around on the balls of my feet and crawled back inside just long enough to grab my phone, and those short seconds provided me with way too much time indoors. Two irritable voices wound up the stairwell and infiltrated my room with cursing and hollow threats. I couldn't make out what they were arguing about. I'm sure it was something stupid, though; I won't ever really believe that my parents knew about the concept of 'civil conversation'. Every thought always turned into raised voices, venomous arguments, and finally Kirsctein warfare. Hence where I got my beyond astounding communication skills. 

Retreat from the house was hasty; all I needed was to glance at the time before tossing the device back on my bed and rolling my eyes when I heard it hit the floor with a dull thump. Plan B for mission 'Wake the Beast' had quickly formed in my mind. All it required was speed and the ability to jimmy that stupid window all the way open, which I managed to do all by myself, thank you very much. I could already feel the muscles beginning to form.  I imagined by the end of the school year I would have taken on the image of Blonde Hulk with a bonus arm. Sweet. 

When I felt that I was fully prepared for mission 'Wake the Beast' attempt two, I slipped easily onto the waiting ledge and casually walked right on across to Marco's covered window. From what I could hear on the inside, Marco's household ran rather differently when compared to mine. There wasn't a single sound aside from an old static-y radio which sang soft classical melodies that danced merrily with the soft snores just beyond the thin wall. I found myself leaning against that wall with a content smile for longer than I'm willing to admit just listening to Marco sleep, the radio play, and the birds above chirp animatedly in the soft glow of the late September morning.

From an early age, I had trained myself to wake early in the morning; in years of old, those few hours provided sanctity and gave me time by myself. My parents didn't previously wake up very early, I guess life was more bearable for them when they were unconscious. I wish they would have stayed that way. The early morning gave me time to do things I actually liked to do, mostly writing and drawing.

"Those are the kinds of things that the gays and nobodies of society enjoy, Jean," I heard my father scold in distant memories, "and you are neither one of those, do you understand?"

 _No_ , I'd wanted to say. I couldn't quite manage words though as I watched him rip my sketch pad apart and toss my journal into the nearest fireplace as nothing more than kindling. "You're no woman, Jean," he warned. I was amazed by the fire in his eyes and the ice in his veins as they worked together to make me miserable. "You're a man. You're my son, and you're going to fucking act like it."

Forcefully, I ripped myself out of those memories real fucking quick. Those were the kinds of things that shouldn't matter years later, losing terrible drawings and even worse journal entries, but they still sparked a burning sensation under my skin; they made my head hurt and my chest squeeze uncomfortably. He'd won in the end, though, after that moment, I'd never once considered purchasing another sketchbook. I hated myself for letting him win. 

_Back to the present, Jean._

I shook my head as if the memories which clouded my mind would fall out of my ears. Lowering myself into a runner's stance, I opened my palm wide and knelt close to my glass target.  _On the count of three,_  I told myself. _One,_ I took in an even breath and closed my eyes, mentally preparing myself for the loud clatter.  _Two,_ I pulled my palm back a few inches.  _Three,_ I slammed my hand against the glass. There was a violent crash and the glass vibrated beneath my hand, even after I had moved it away. The birds scattered in squawking madness, and I scurried my skinny ass across those two rooftops faster than I've ever ran before, nearly falling between the houses, before nosediving into the safety of my own room. I rolled across the floor in lieu of a landing and clutched at my stomach, unable to contain the burst of laughter that rose from deep within my core. I didn't know it was possible to laugh so freely, so genuinely.

There was a distinct startled scream that originated in the bedroom across the alley, followed, in rapid succession, by a loud thud, muffled curses, pounding footsteps, and finally the still-shaking window was thrown open with so much ease it was terrifying. 

I crawled towards my own wall and folded my arms along the window sill, thoughtfully placing my chin atop the neatly placed limbs. I went for a smirk, but I think it fell somewhere between a lopsided grin and a toothy smile. Marco's violent sneer faltered and he laid his hand over his heart. 

"Well, look who's finally chosen to wake up," I said casually, picking at my nails with indifference. "Good morning, sunshine."

"Jean..." he huffed breathlessly and rubbed his eyes with the backs of his hands, not even bothering to conceal a gigantic yawn which made his face scrunch up and look impossibly young. As his hand worked to get the sleep out of his right eye, he peered toward the street and frowned immediately. "Jean, the _sun_ isn't even awake yet, so we shouldn't be either. That's just wrong. It goes against the laws of nature."

"The laws of nature don't matter when I'm lonely," I shrugged and he scowled in response.

"You scared the hell out of me."

"In my defense," I replied, holding my forefinger up as a way of silencing him before he tried to interrupt, "I did try a more subtle method, but waking you isn't as easy a you might think. You don't sleep, you fucking hibernate, dude."

His face lightened drastically. "You bully me so much," he said past a smile.

"I- I don't. It's just-"

He waved his palm dismissively. "I'm kidding. Jokes, Jean, heard of them?"

"I've heard such things exist outside of these walls," I could still hear the voices downstairs, though they had dropped tremendously in volume; I stuck my head further out the window as if the open air would provide some sort of buffer between me and them, "but I thought they were a myth. Kind of like unicorns, magic, and manners."

"Please," Marco said. The color in his face had returned; the darkness of his complexion complimented the pink hue in his cheeks. "None of those things exist."

We talked like that for a long time and to my surprise, conversing with Marco was still easy, even after the events of the previous night.  We laughed, we talked, he told me how he would get me back for the mild concussion he had received after his being scared out of his bed, and I wished him the best of luck. The sun had forced itself well above the horizon before everyone in the Bodt household came to life. Small children screamed, pots and pans rattled in the distance, and a distinctly warm laugh erupted in the midst of the morning commotion. 

Marco had tried to apologize for the noise countless times, which was fucking stupid. Every "I'm sorry" he offered was quickly returned with a fond "Shut up, Marco." His family in the early morning was probably one of the best conglomeration of sounds I'd ever heard in my life. The sounds of happy domesticity were so much nicer than he realized. 

We sat in a comfortable silence, I look past him and focused on the back wall of his bedroom wile he watched me with the ghost of a smile passing over his lips. By clearing his throat, he was able to pull me from my own mind gently. When my eyes focused and the world came back to me, I realized, embarrassingly, that my eyes had misted over. I knew it had to be obvious, but Marco said nothing of my overly emotional state. God bless him for it.

"Hey, are you walking today?" He pushed himself away from his widow sill and wandered into the shadows to the far left side of his room, disappearing from my line of sight. 

"What? I- I walking? Yeah, I'm walking."  _Good, Jean. Great. Lay on the charm real thick, doofus._

Briefly, Marco pokes his head around the corner to peak out the window, his expression suspicious. "Are you feeling okay?"  He walked away as he asked, his voice becoming softer with the added distance.

"Oh, yeah, yeah. I'm good, just tired."

"Gee, I'd have no idea what that feels like. I got a full night's sleep," The sarcasm in his voice was strong, but I could still hear the smile in his tone. That permanent smile that I'd grown to depend on.

"You got like four whole hours, stop complaining, lazy."

He laughed and emerged from the depths of the shadows that filled his room and reappeared in front of the window. His clothes for the day were laid across his arm and his sleeping shirt had been stripped away. I averted my eyes so quickly I think I almost snapped my optic nerve. "Want company on your walk today?"

He slipped a shirt on over his torso, and I wasn't sure whether I wanted to rejoice or be extremely disappointed. "Oh, I mean, yeah sure if you want to come with me you can. No big deal."

Marco nodded. "I'll see you outside in a few then," he snapped his curtains closed before I had the chance to respond, and I immediately fell back against the cold hardwood floor.  _Fuck me._

I grabbed my phone off the floor where it had fallen, and surfed through my contacts, finding Armin's name and selecting the option to send a message.

 

**To: Armin**

**i need to talk soon dude. do you have time?**

 

Mercifully, his reply took no time at all.

 

**From: Armin**

**I'll make time**

 

**To: Armin**

**ok thanks man. ill call later.**

 

I got dressed in record time and shot down the stairs, nearly tripping in my haste. I barely noticed that the arguing from the downstairs had finally ended; mom sat planted in the kitchen as usual and dad was somewhere far off with a rustling newspaper. As I walked past, mom gave me a slight wave. I stopped in my tracks and walked back just a few steps. I noticed that her eyes were rimmed in a deep pink color and her hands shook in her lap.

I cleared my throat. "Have a good day, alright?" I said softly. I didn't know what to say or do. I wasn't meant for comforting or pleasantries. She smiled and nodded, eyes closed. 

"Of course," she whispered, the white washed kitchen glowed painfully bright in the morning light. The thin white curtains did nothing to make the sun's blinding light. "You too," she finally managed.

With a nod, I went back towards the door and slammed it behind me with more force than was probably necessary. Marco, who sat on my front steps, bolted upright at the noise, eyes wide, posture on the alert. The color seemed to have drained out of his face and his hands tightened violently around the object in his hands. 

"What's up with you?" I laughed, standing by his side with hands shoved deep in my front pockets. 

His shoulders slumped and she shook his head, hair falling slightly into his face. He exhaled slowly. "I'm good."

Concern set in immediately, so I sat my ass right beside him and rested my elbows on my knees, hands twined together.  "Dude, don't lie to me you look like you just saw a ghost. Seriously, I will address this shit Dr. Phil style right here right now." I nudged his shoulder with mine.

She shook his head and nudged me back with more force. "Don't worry so much." He said softly, dropping his gaze to his hands. "Oh!" He gasped, extending the wad in his hands out to me. 

"Uh?" I looked at him skeptically.

"It's for you," he said softly. "It didn't look this bad when I brought it out here." His cheeks took on a light shade of pink.

I took the napkin from his hands and lifted the corner uneasily with my thumb. "What- What is it?"

"Open it and find out, dummy," he retorted, standing slowly. I followed his lead, crumpled napkin cradled gently in my hands as to not smash it further.

"I don't know about tha-"

"Jean," he cut me off with a slight laugh, "if you don't open it, I will shove the whole thing, napkin and all, down your throat. Come on."

"Testy," I said, peeling the haphazard wrapping away. 

He said nothing, keeping his eyes forward as I did what I was told to do and unwrapped my gift. Once the brightly colored napkin had been pealed away, a smashed muffin lay in the center. I looked at him skeptically. That light pink shade on his freckled cheeks deepened alarmingly and he rubbed at the back of his neck nervously.

"I-I just noticed that you never eat very much. And I know you didn't eat this morning. Don't lie to me, Jean, I know." He paused and bumped into my side lightly as we walked. "Mom made these this morning, and I thought it'd be nice to-"

"It's very nice," I said quickly, cutting him off before he began to question his actions. The big fucking softy. "Thank you. Really. This was really... nice of you."

"You act like niceness is new for me. I'm always nice, Jean, you're just too busy being an ass to see it" he chuckled, grip tightening on the straps of his bookbag.

"You almost threw me off a roof," I deadpanned.

He hesitated, but only for a moment. "Retaliation for you being an ass."

He smiled that sunbeam of a smile and my heart faltered a little bit. We walked the rest of the way in a comfortable silence. I was mostly stuck inside my own head; unable to look at Marco without feeling every single bit of my sanity drain away. I hated myself for letting my dependency on him go so far. Fuck, he was ruining my life. 

To be honest, I wasn't very well versed in the art of showing emotion, unless it was anger. I was a pro at anger; otherwise, I was useless. It really drove me insane, because a part of me felt  _broken_. What normal person can't tell someone that they care? I couldn't, because I knew that if I did he may reject me in the same way my family had, and I literally would not survive something like that. I knew I wouldn't, so I kept my big mouth clamped shut.

"Jean," Marco waved his hand in front of my face, eyebrows knit together in concern. "Jean?"

"What?" I was mentally a million miles away; I wanted to be physically a million miles away. I couldn't deal with him.

"I asked if you wanted to meet up at the courtyard for lunch?"

I nodded and began to step away from him. "Yeah, yeah okay that sounds fine."

I didn't give him time to say anything before scuffling way into the nearest mass of people. Never before had I been so happy to attend French. 

I had four hours to get my shit together and appear relatively normal in front of my best friend, and that sure as shit was no where near long enough. Through each class leading to lunch, I tried to distract myself with work, but eventually, inevitably, my mind would fall back on Marco. The way he laughed, the way his wide eyes that shone like he was happiness embodied, the freckles that dusted every inch of his skin, the way he cared for me more than anyone ever had before, being sure I ate and slept.

 _Stop,_ I told myself countless times,  _just stop torturing yourself._

 

The courtyard was crowded that day and provided multiple distractions so that I never once had to look Marco in the eye. A few people passed by us and spoke to Marco as if he was their long lost love. No one spared me a passing glance, which I tried not to dwell on.

When the area began to clear, Marco eyed me suspiciously and cleared his throat. "Are you alright?" His whisper hitched.

"I'm fine," I replied a little too quickly, and with way too much malice. "I just- I feel sick, I guess."

He nodded and stood, brushing nonexistent dust from his pants. "Oh. Well, want me to walk with you to class?"

 _Yes,_ every part of me screamed. "No," I cleared my throat and raked my fingers through my hair, "I'll just see you at home."

Every light behind his eyes dimmed and the lighthearted smile fell like ancient rubble. Hollow is how is looked in that very moment. "Okay."

 

I'm not sure why I thought pushing Marco away would be a good idea. It seemed to work in the movies. Those people always acted so carefree and happy once their problem of a love interest had left the picture. I just felt empty and alone, but I needed that dependency gone. I didn't want to need him the way I did. It wasn't healthy, and I needed to survive on my own. Needing him put me no where but far behind. 

 

I walked home alone that afternoon with my phone pressed against my ear, Armin chatting animatedly from miles away. Marco had had a student government meeting and there was no way in hell I'd sit through that shit for him. No way.

Alright," Armin's voice was energetic and fully alive, "what's been bothering you, Jean?"

What was bothering me? _I_  was bothering me, and I didn't think there was any way of getting rid of that. "Er..." I hesitated, "I'm having romantic problems."

"Romantic problems," Armin repeated. His voice fell flat.

"Right."

"You're calling me because you have feelings? Like real feelings that human beings get every day?" 

I sighed and rubbed my hand over my mouth. "It's not that simple, Armin."

"Of course it is." In the background, paper's shuffled and a chair creaked, "Jean, how long has it been since anyone showed any kind of interest in you at all?"

"I-"

"More importantly," he cut me off, "how long has it been since  _you_ showed any interest in anyone else? Whoever she is, she's worth your time, and you're worth hers. You deserve to be cared for."

My eyes burned in their sockets, and I didn't trust my voice to speak so I stayed quiet. The line silenced.

"Jean," Armin's voice was soft and the extended silence felt like it lasted for years, "let yourself be happy, please."

I stopped walking. My backpack felt like it contained the world and I was the only one trying to hold it up. "I don't know if I can do that, Armin," my voice, the traitor that it was, shook violently.

"How about we Skype tonight, yeah? Maybe you can haul your friend along, too." He paused, the sound of something falling on the floor was distinct. He muttered curses. "C'mon, I haven't seen you in forever. Humor me with your horse face tonight."

"Fuck you," I gave a humorless laugh, "I'll think about it, okay?"

"Yeah," he sounded distant from the phone, "I'll be waiting."

I ended the call there, paced up the stairs robotically, closed the blinds, pinned the curtains shut, and laid across the floor. Once again, I found myself staring at blank walls for comfort. I fell from cloud nine gracelessly, and did nothing to slow my decent.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mikasa, Eren, and Jean devise a plan to apologize to Marco because Jean can't do it on his own. He's a big baby. Armin continues to be an angel.

I was woken from a dreamless sleep by two rapid taps against the window. I jolted into a seated position and just stared, feeling a sickness swirling in the pit of my stomach. The blinds and drapes did a fantastic job blocking the view of my visitor, but I still had a relatively good idea as to who it was. I mean, really, if it hadn't been Marco, I'd have many more problems than I'd originally thought.

I stayed in place.  _Maybe if I don't answer he'll leave_. Anyone but Marco would have. Anyone but good ole' fucking Marco. 

Two more knocks sounded, this time more violent than before. 

"Patience, kid," I hissed, forcing my stiff limps to stand. They cracked in protest. I was too old for this shit. 

"Jean, I'm older than you are and-" I yanked the cord for the blinds. The sinking sun painted my room in warm colors. Marco looked up at me from his seated position, leaning against my house. His face looked pink and puffy and unbelievably pained. I elected to ignore it. "Hi," he breathed with a weak smile. His hand fell away from the glass and landed in his lap loosely. 

"Hey."

He pressed his lips together in a firm line. His gaze seemed far off and blind. I shifted my weight between my feet uncomfortably.

"I just wanted to ask if you want to, you know, hang out tonight?" His voice was strained, and he refused to meet my eyes. He wasn't even looking into my room anymore, he only watched the alley, eyes glued the spot where his textbook had fallen the night before

"Not tonight," the way his face pinched actually damaged my soul. I think I felt my internal organs actually begin to bleed. I'd never seen someone look so absolutely devastated because of me. Originally, before meeting Marco, I would have considered that situation as complete and total power in it's greatest form. It was actually hell, and everyone was a victim. "I'm talking to a friend from back home tonight," I added as if that would help anything.

"O-Oh. Oh, that's good, Jean. That's- yeah, that's good. Okay. Well, tomorrow maybe." His eyes gained a wet shine. He needed to go. I needed to go. The wind cruelly wafted the scent of his soap and shampoo into my room and I inhaled deeply, guiltily. It took all I had not to slam my head against the nearest wall a few dozen times. 

"Yeah, maybe tomorrow." My voice broke in the end, but that didn't stop me from releasing the blinds and covering the image of Marco's hollow gaze.

"Probably not though." I hated myself. I really fucking did because this was  _Marco_. He never asked for this, he was only trying to be nice to the damaged, friendless kid next door. He didn't need my emotional shit.

I guess somewhere in the mix we both got too attached, and someone had to end it. If one of us had the ability to destroy relationships, it was me; I'd ruined my parents and I could ruin our friendship as well.

I didn't want attachment, and I didn't need attachment. I'd seen what attachment did for people who cared too much. Id seen my mother transform into a hollow shell under the carelessness of my father. She had no one to save her, and she didn't want to save herself. Attachment was cruel, and I refused to subject Marco to it. I knew the outcome of caring for men like myself. He could do so much better for himself as far as friends were concerned.  _  
_

 _Just friends,_ I reminded myself as I watched his shadow disappear from behind my window. _Well,_ I amended, _n_ _ot anymore._

I sat in the silence for a long while, back pressed firmly against the side of my bed, head thrown back against the mattress. Teenage melodrama hurts a lot more than anyone is ever willing to admit.

The phone rang and nearly scared the literal shit out of me. I snatched it violently from its resting place.

"What?" I practically growled into the speaker.

"Jean, Skype now, remember?" Armin spoke surely, completely unfazed by my temper.

"I said I'd think about it," I argued.

"Yeah, and thinking time is over. Get on."

He hung up. I grabbed my laptop wearily, and the night just went downhill from there.

 

"You don't look so great," Armin commented as soon as the webcam image went from pixelated nothingness to grainy, barely-there nonsense.

"You really know how to make a man happy, Armin. Really."

He gave a soft smile. His large blue eyes stared a hole right through me as his glasses slipped down the bridge of his nose, "you didn't take my advice."

"I'm working on it."

He folded his arms across his chest and the webcam image smeared across my screen as he re-positioned himself on his bed, "I hope you know that I don't believe you for a second."

"That seems like a personal problem."

Armin huffed, "Jean, I really don't understand you either."

"Is that another personal problem I hear?"

"What's so wrong with being fond of someone?" He prodded.

I set my jaw and watched my own image in the corner of the computer screen. I really did look like a fucking disaster. I saw Marco's image in the back of my mind, and I deflated. I hoped he knew that I was suffering too. My shoulder's slumped, my jaw slacked, my eyelids squeezed closed. I crumbled in on myself in the most painful of ways.

"Jean," Armin called for my attention. His voice was airy, kind, and patient as he waited for me to respond. He repeated my name every so often until I finally fixed my eyes on the camera. My lower lip burned where my teeth had broken the skin; the taste of blood was prominent on my tongue.

"I have a huge fucking problem, Armin."

"You don't say," he pushed his glasses back into position slowly, "Jean, everyone needs affection."

"I don't! I shouldn't. I haven't needed it. I haven't." I shook my head. "I shouldn't need him the way I do."

"I-" Armin paused, and a fleeting look of disbelief passed over his face. "You said him," his genuine smile shone from miles away.

_Shit._

I stayed silent, picking at my nails, examining my hands, studying the blanket I sat on.  _Don't you fucking look him in the eye, Kirsctein._

"Oh my God, Jean.  _That's_ the problem?"

"Part of it," I snapped, "only part of it."  _Avert your eyes. Avert your eyes. Avert your eyes._

"Okay, well then tell me the other part." I felt his gaze fixed on me.

Unsure, I paused before the words tumbled out thoughtlessly. "I need him already. I need him. What happens when I move again? What happens when I go away, he stays here, and I have to watch him replace me. What happens when he finds out that I like him way too fucking much and he runs away? What happens when he realizes how fucked up my life is, my family, me? What happens when I turn into my dad? Everyone says I already act like him, and that fucking scares me. What if I turn into my fucking dad? Hm? What happens when he deals with me out of fear? What happens when the hell my parents are living in becomes my -our- reality?"

"Oh," he whispered. Sparing a glance at the computer provided me with little comfort. Armin sat with his knees pulled up close to his torso, chin resting thoughtfully on top. His facial features were soft and resembled something similar to pity. "You honestly think you're similar to him? I don't know if you've noticed, Jean, but your father isn't a nice man."

"Really? I don't see it."

"You're nothing like him, you idiot. At least you have half a conscious, and you're growing. You know, you're kind of like the Grinch. You're heart's just having a difficult time keeping up."

Despite myself, I smiled for the first time that day. "I've only known him for a month, Armin, and I swear to God, I would turn this entire earth upside down if he asked me to. I would do anything to see one of those stupid fucking smiles. After a month, Armin. A month. That's not healthy. It's not good. My heart needs to slow the hell down."

I noticed, for the first time, that tears had began to freely fall. I cleared my throat roughly and my stomach preformed somersaults as my brain processed the words that had been said. God, when had I learned into a love-sick preteen girl? 

He was my sun, moon, and stars, he caused my happiness and in return I gave him nothing but grief. 

"Have I ever told you about my parents?" Armin's interjection was openly welcome.

I shook my head slowly. "No. No, I don't think so."

His eyes shifted and found a resting place on something to the far left of the frame. I assumed he was admiring the picture of his parents he'd placed on his desk soon after they'd died. I didn't ask.

"My dad was German," he began, "mom was American. Really, they never should have met, but both of their families took two separate vacations to the same beach. Mom was really sheltered. She was never allowed away from the family because they feared something may happen to her. She was really small and well, I mean, where do you think I got it from? She was 17 then. Her parents chose her friends and her future, so she wanted out for just one night. Anyway, she snuck out one night near the end of their vacation week, wanting to explore on her own. She wandered all over the beaches that night until she found a pier that was packed full of people, and I guess that was her version of Nirvana. She spent the entire night there.

She talked to everyone who caught her interest, and from what she told me, that's what true freedom feels like. She and dad ran right into each other while she was roaming and he was people watching, he apologized for knocking his drink on her, and she laughed at his accent. Apparently, he really liked her laugh, so he said anything and everything just to keep her laughing, mind you he was a quiet man. My grandpa told me that he only spoke to family rarely. He had no friends because he refused to make them, but I guess mom was something different. They exchanged hotel phone numbers that night before they parted ways. When she got back to her hotel it was 8 in the morning, and she was grounded and put on lockdown for rebelling, I guess. Mom never thought they'd speak again," Armin's grainy image shrugged.

"They kept in contact for the rest of their vacations, just talking over the phone. That lasted three days, in case you're curious. At the end of the third night, during their last phone call, dad promised that he was going to marry her one day. Mom laughed it off, but, eight years later, they bumped into each other again. Dad had changed his citizenship, and was going for a job interview to start his new life as an American. He recognized the interviewer. And the interviewer, my mother, recognized him too. I guess you can fill in the rest for yourself," he laughed and reluctantly tore his attention away from the thing of interest on his desk. 

I parted my lips, not sure what the say, but Armin's sharp look stopped me instantly. "Listen to the moral before you say anything, Kirsctein," he scolded, "the point is, the amount of time you've known someone and the distance between two people doesn't determine the fate of a relationship. My parents died happy, and they died together against all odds after a ten year marriage. When something is right, nothing can change that. Not time, not mileage," he paused and grinned, his hands worked through his hair subconsciously as he spoke, "not even gender. Nothing. It's not a bad thing to be happy, Jean. Listen to me, please. Listen."

I clenched my teeth together and stared directly at him with hard eyes. He looked back with an equally determined expression. I could imagine him jabbing his finger into my chest in the way he always did when he was trying to put me in my place.

"You are the only one stopping you from being happy. So stop taking it out on that boy, stop making yourself the victim, stop beating yourself up, and  _do something about it._ "

There were very few times when Armin was able to penetrate every single shield I had up with his words, this was one of those times. Big tears had formed in his eyes and locks of blonde hair had fallen into his face as he screamed his advice at me. His teeth were cemented together and bared in finality as he watched me through the his computer screen. 

What Armin lacked in height, which was a fucking lot, he made up for in fiery passion and intelligence beyond his years. I felt a slack smile strain at my face.

"Tell me how you really feel, bowl cut."

His expression lightened and he fell back against his bed, splayed out wide.

"There is no need to be rude."

Even from my vantage point at the foot of the bed I could see him smiling at the ceiling through the pixelated image his camera provided.

He fell asleep just like that, and I couldn't bear to close my computer for the night. It reminded me of when I used to stay at his house what felt like an eternity ago. He always fell asleep way too early, and of course I mocked him for it every chance I got. This time, though, I just sighed and shook my head. I'm not sure where I would be now without Armin back then, I'm not even sure if I'd be here now.

"Goodnight to you too, grandma," I muttered, shutting the lid of the laptop softly. 

I found myself looking at my window countless times in the minutes following the Skype call. Eventually, despite myself, I rose. Completely convincing myself to step towards the window was a mental war. I paced nervously, sparing fleeting glances between the sleeping laptop and the window under lockdown.  _Just do something about it,_ Armin's words rang in my head and reverberated against my skull painfully.

I never actually made it to the window. Instead, I found myself seated back in the floor, eyes closed, breathing uneasy, waiting for the morning that I hoped wouldn't come. 

 

I didn't bother looking for Marco that morning. I simply woke, still spread out across the floor, dressed using clothes I found scattered about the room, skillfully voided any mirrors, refused to eat, and left without a word. I walked alone, hands shoved in my jean pockets, eyes focused contently on the sidewalk. 

Right as I stepped into Rivaille's classroom, Jaeger's voice rang out over the others. 

"Jesus. It looks like Hell ate you for breakfast and spat you back out."

I sat and shrugged. "So what you're trying to say is I look like you?"

"We look nothing alike, horse face."

"I do  _not_ have a horse face. Jesus fucking Christ."

Eren smirked. "Touchy subject then?"

"Shut the fuck up, Jaeger."

I was used to arguing with him. It'd become an every day norm, and though he was the most annoying person in the world, I still felt a sense of peace and normalcy talking to him. Well, really I talked  _at_ him. It still helped. Of course, that couldn't last long. He had to ruin it. 

"Look man," he said, leaning across his desk, "don't take out your anger on me. I can't help you're having domestic issues with Marco."

I paused. Froze. Felt the color drain from my face. Kinda wanted to curl up in the grave I'd dug for myself and die. I tried to go for my normal asshole routine, but I floundered and ruined it. "I-what You- I don't know what you're talking about."

Eren snorted and leaned back in his seat. A self satisfied smirk painted his features.  _Fuck, I'd never wanted to punch someone so much in my life._ "He has friends you know; Marco does. Friends that aren't you, and I just so happen to be one of them. Oops," he shrugged, "I know the situation, dude, and it's a domestic dispute."

"Jaeger, so help me God if you don't shut your mouth right now I-"

A hand slammed down between the desks. Eren snapped upright immediately with a startled noise, and I slowly looked up expecting the worst, Rivaille, but what I saw was actually much more terrifying. Eren's sister or bodyguard or whatever the hell she was stood over us with a look that dared either of us to speak. Wisely, we both stayed silent. 

"You're not helping, Eren," her voice was surprisingly soft considering the harshness in her stance.

"Yeah, Eren, you're not hel-"

The look she gave me shut down my every will to speak.

"I've spoken to Marco as well," she said, eyes emotionless.

" _You_ spoke to him?" Eren questioned.

"He talked to me," she amended, not removing her stoic gaze from me, "you messed up. And now you're going to fix it."

"What if I don't want to fix anything?" My voice came as more of a grumble than anything else.

Eren gave a scoffing laugh. "Don't try to fool yourself, idiot."

"I don't care what you want. It won't change that fact that you're both going to do as I say."

"Both of us?" Eren asked incredulously. "I want nothing to do with him or his gay panic."

Mikasa ignored him. "You're going to apologize in three phases. I think you'll both be particularly fond of the first phase. We're relationship building."

 

I admit, I was fond of the first phase which unfolded in gym class. I was meant to defend Marco's honor or some shit like some kind of knight in shining armor. Now I'm no valiant knight, and I'll never claim to be, but the plan peaked my interest. 

That day we played a class game of dodgeball, Eren being the captain of one team, while I led the other. Blonde Hulk watched over us casually in all of his muscular, intimidating glory, but he didn't seem to take much interest in the game itself. It was up to Eren to make the first move, and he did so quickly.

As soon as he was given the opportunity, he threw the ball in his hands at top speed and clipped Marco across the right side of his face, causing welts where the ball had imprinted into his skin. Jaeger raised his eyebrows and laughed.

"Hey, asswipe," I screamed, "torso or below! What's so hard to understand about that?"

From the corner of my eye, I saw Mikasa dragging Marco off the court.

"I understand your brain is the size of a pea, but you do understand basic English don't you?"

Eren stepped forward. "You wanna try that again, Kirsctein?"

Both of our teams lurched forward into the growing tension.

"Torso," I said calmly, raising the ball in my hand, "or below."

I threw it harder than necessary, I admit, but it was so satifying watching it connect with his abdomen. He doubled over, and as soon as the ball I'd released hit the floor, the gym broke into all out chaos with Jaeger and I in the center.

"You moron!" Eren cried out before tackling me to the ground. We deviated from the plan here. Eren was supposed to 'accidentally hit Marco' and I was supposed to retaliate by striking Eren. That was it. I didn't expect our teams to continue battling. A seemingly friendly game blossomed into chaos. The court became a battlefield. 

Eren's fist connected with my jaw before I saw it coming, causing my to bite my tongue painfully.

" _I'm_ a moron?!" My fist made continuous contact somewhere near his side while my other arm feebly attempted to avoid the abuse he was giving my face.

I was thrown across the gym. I mean literally _thrown_ across that fucking gym. Crumpled against the wall I'd landed by, I looked up through my hair. Jaege was in a similar position on the other side of the room. Blonde Hulk, or, more formally, Mr. Smith, stood where we had once been piled on top of one another. Our teams had stopped fighting and we sat in silence for a long while, all staring at one another in anticipation.

Long story short, Jaeger and I landed ourselves in detention. Ordinarily, detention was held for all students in the same room, Eren and I were special though. We were both locked in solitary confinement on opposite ends of the school which actually worked perfectly with phase two of 'apologize to Marco'.

Mikasa had wanted me to wait outside of his student government meeting and offer to walk him home. Now I was stuck in school and had dragged her stupid as shit brother into it with me.  _Good._

Time passed slowly. I thought about what I might say to Marco when I saw him. I wondered if I'd be able to contain myself. I wondered if he'd even give me the time of day. Of course, I knew he was a better person than I was, but if our roles had been reversed, I would have probably killed him. In a way, I think I kind of hoped he'd kill me. That'd make the whole apologizing thing easier. My pride didn't allow for apologies.

Mr. Smith came to release me from prison an hour later. I think it was an hour at least; the room I was locked in had had no clock, and I'd been forced to turn in my phone. When the door creaked open, Eren could be seen behind the coach. His expression seemed grim.

"Now," Blonde Hulk began, "before I release either of you, I expect you to apologize to one another."

_Are you fucking serious?_

He pushed Eren into the room, and I stood from my desk. Both of us avoided eye contact.

Long moments passed before the coach cleared his throat.

"Sorry for calling you names and blackening your eye," Eren's eyes were staring pointedly behind me. I elected not to point it out.

My hand snaked its way behind my neck, rubbing at the short hairs there subconsciously. "Sorry for knocking the breath out of you and probably destroying your kidney."

Blonde Hulk nodded. "I guess that'll have to work for now." 

He stuck his hand in his front pocket and fished around until the hand resurfaced with my phone sitting in his palm. "Don't try to be stupid in my class again, got it?" He asked, dropped the device into my cupped hands.

"Yes sir," Eren and I both mumbled, not quite in unison. 

As the coach began his retreat down the hallways, Eren snatched the cellphone right back out of my hands.

"Give that back," I snapped.

He didn't respond, he only lit up the screen and began an opposite hallway. "Student government ends in five minutes, Kirsctein. Better get a move on."

"What does that have to do with  _you_ taking  _my_ phone?"

He shrugged, "Mikasa said to take anything from you that might be a distraction. You're lucky I didn't frisk you."

"In your dreams," I said bitterly.

"Only the nightmares," he had already began up the stairs when he began searching through the phone with a bored expression, "good luck, lover boy. Stand there and look as pretty as your horse face will allow," he paused. "You're gonna need all the help you can get."

"Fuck you, Jaeger."

His only response was the fading sounds of laughter.

I walked slowly across the campus. Even the leadership teacher, Mr. Pixis, who I'm convinced was 90 years old, scuffled right on past me in a beeline for his car. I tried to formulate what I was going to say, or if I should say anything at all. Marco generally loved to talk, but I felt like seeing me would be enough to shut him down in a second.

 _You fucked up, Kirsctein._ The voice in my head repeated until the time the classroom door cracked open and students began to pile out in herds. I barely looked away from the floor, hoping he just wouldn't see me; I knew Mikasa would kick the shit out of me, but it' probably feel a hell of a lot better than confronting the freckle-faced dork I'd met on the very first day at Trost.

I'd done well training my eyes to the ground until I head Marco's voice inside the classroom. My eyes lept up immediately and my stomach churned with anxiety.  _You still have time to run,_ I reminded myself. My feet felt as though they were cemented to the floor and the threat of vomiting increased to an un-fucking-believable level.

He was the last one out. Marco finished his conversation with his teacher ad left the classroom beaming like an idiot; my rigid stance turned limp, and apparently I had the opposite affect on him. He knees locked, the smile fell, and his eyes became hard, shining like glass. There was a purple bruise forming across his face where he'd been struck in gym. 

"Do you need something, Jean?" His tone was hurt and tired, but not angry. Never angry.

The guilt in my stomach only grew even more sickening. "I-I uh well, you know, I get detention for being the shit out of Eren."

He huffed and turned on his heels.

"Well, maybe I didn't beat the shit out of him, but, I, uh, y'know, we got detention and when I got out, I thought maybe you could use some company. You know, walking home."

He turned slightly, studying me from the corner of his eye. "Just give me a second."

He pulled a dinosaur of a cellphone out of his jacket pocket and typed the numbers without actually looking at them; his gaze was intently set on me. I squirmed where I stood.

"Hey mom? Hey, yeah, you don't have to worry about picking me up today, alright? I- yeah, something else came up, so I'll just walk home. Okay-Okay yeah thanks. I love you, too."

We walked in silence the majority of the way. It wasn't a friendly silence, and it wasn't welcome; there was just nothing to break it with, so, we walked with our mouths shut. I mulled over the way he said I love you to his mother. My mind wandered, and as it did I considered how he may say those words differently if he was saying them to me. The very thought lit the pit of my stomach on fire. I noticed his eyes lock onto me every now and then as if I may vanish if he looked away. God, I wished I could do that. 

I actually did't notice when he stopped in from of our houses. It took me a few steps to realize that we weren't walking side by side. I walked backwards slowly, hands gripping the straps of my backpack in tight fists, fingernails biting into the flesh of my palm. 

We stood, looking at one another for a long while, and my mind flashed back to Marco standing with a mountain of papers and text books against his chest, face flushed a vibrant pink. I remembered the day I fell head over heels for that boy, and in that moment it was so painful and all consuming that I lost myself in my own mind. 

" _Jean,_ " Marco snapped. His eyebrows with furrowed and his mouth was set in a hard line.

"Huh?"

" _Why?_ Why are you doing this to me? Did I piss you off? Hurt your feelings? Make your parents not like me?  _I don't understand, Jean._ " The pleading in his voice rocked me to my very core, and felt like a punch in the gut. Having Mikasa land me in the hospital wouldn't have been half as painful, I decided. 

I didn't know how to respond. He looked me dead in the eye and I couldn't look away. My throat burned. "I- I don't know what to say."

He bit his lip and nodded. "Have a good night then, Jean."

He pounded up the stairs leading to his front door and slammed it closed. I watched the door for a long time, standing in the same spot with my heart in my throat. I think I felt my internal organs bleeding out and pooling around my feet. 

There was nothing I could say. I'd messed up bad. 

As I stood there with night falling, I didn't know what to do. I wanted to knock on his front door, I wanted to hide inside of my own house, I wanted things to go back to normal, the ways tings were pre-Marco, and then again I wanted Marco to be the very thing my entire life revolved around. He already was; I just needed him to know it. 

 _Do something about it,_ Armin's voice bubbled up in my brain and erased every other thought. His words strangled my self pity and smashed all of my hesitancy.

Phase three of plan 'apologize to Marco' had been left up for me to decide, and after wallowing in self pity for way too fucking long, I was sure about what I had to do. I was going to have to bite the bullet, drop my pride, and face my problem head on. Preferably with a lot of gifts.

"Fuck," I muttered, throwing my backpack through the door of my own house before slamming the door shut and racing back onto the sidewalk, sprinting towards town. "Fine, I'll do something, Armin," I growled to myself, shoving my way past people headed in the opposite direction. "Fuck."


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean finally becomes less dumb and admits his feelings with the help of Petra and some flowers. Smutty antics follow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I TOOK LIKE A MONTH TO UPDATE I'M SORRY I WAS DISTRACTED BY EREMIN. :C
> 
> (find me at ariminarlert.tumblr.com and feel free to harass me about taking too long i'm so sorry.)

I think if Usian Bolt and I would have had a race to that florist shop, he probably still would have won, but I would have been a close fucking second. I bolted in without hitting the breaks. The door flew open as I crashed inside and the bell above the threshold tinkled softly amongst the commotion. The florist, a small girl with large doe eyes and short hair that swept around her jaw, nearly jumped out of her skin upon my entrance, but she collected her professionalism in record timing.

"Welcome!" She said cheerfully with a wide smile parting her thin lips. As she wiped her hands on her dirt-coated green apron, I realized she had a name tag pinned to it. 'Petra' was scrawled out in loopy handwriting. She extended her hand, but I walked past it obliviously, focused intently on the endless walls of flowers and buckets of arrangements.

"I need help," I turned back to face her. Her face was a mask of unfazed joy.

"Of course!" She replied while taking a large step in my direction. We stood hip to hip in the center of the shop. "What's the occasion?" Eyes busy scanning the flowers, she barely paid me any mind, "anniversary? Just because?"

"Uh-" I looked at my feet.

"Oh," she said in a drawn out voice, "one of those situations," nodding, she waved for me to come back to the counter and pulled out a large book that hit the counter with a loud bang. "You need 'I fucked up' flowers, don't you?"

I wanted to say something bitter. She was right though, so I only nodded and hesitantly looked down at the page she was holding open for me. "Which kinds of flowers and colors does she like?" Her voice was distant; her attention was focused steadfastly on the reference book.

"I-I don't really know what he would like to be honest. I just know I have a lot of making up to do. I need the 'I really, really fucked up' bouquet."

She laughed softly and her hair fell across her face. Wide brown eyes studied the worn wooden counter before she raised her gaze steadily, "You got me on the right day. I just got a shipment that was meant for you." She looked around the shop, thoughtfully. It was completely empty aside from the two of us. "Let's just say it's six and close this place down."

Skipping to the glass door that I had nearly busted, she switched her sign over to closed and turned back to me. "We're gonna make sure you're extra forgiven," she stepped around me, waving for me to come with her. On unsure footing, I followed.

The store's cooler was massive and housed thousands of flowers; though I was at a total loss, Petra skipped through the refrigerator effortless. She plucked flowers from large bins until the crook of her left arm was nearly full, and her face beamed. "Hey, kid, do me a favor and go to the store next door. Buy small gifts, you know, chocolates, balloons, maybe a stuffed animal or something, I don't care. Just get some stuff, and I'll get these arranged for you, deal?"

"Uh, yeah, deal, definitely."

I left quickly, completely unaware of the time, so I had to scoot and boogy my ass across the street to be sure I had enough time to purchase dumb things to make that freckle faced nerd smile. I needed him to smile because of me again.

In the end, I settled on buying a mountain of chocolate, three helium balloons, and a notebook to write my apology note in.

Once I'd crossed the street again, I was sure the enter much more quietly, allowing the bell above the door to announce my presence rather than loud, clumsy falling and cursing.

Petra stood behind the desk, barely visible behind a massive blue vase filled to the brim with flowers. At the sound of the bell, she stepped back with a self-satisfied smile, spreading her arms wide in a motion to draw attention to her creation.

"Blue hydrangeas, creme roses, white lilies, daisies, yellow and white chrysanthemums, eucalyptus, and white alstroemeria," she said simply, as if it was supposed to make a single bit of sense to me. To be honest, I hardly listened to her. I was too busy gawking at what she'd done for me.

"W-Why did you do all this for me?" She snipped a white ribbon and looked to me as it fluttered down to the counter.

"Two reasons," she said softly, tying a tight bow around the neck of the vase, "one, is that I had the unfortunate opportunity to meet with your father, he wanted floral arrangements for his governor campaign speech," she flipped her hand over in the air and rolled her eyes. "Anyone who deals with him daily deserves everything I have to offer."

"Also," she said as she placed baby breath buds throughout the arrangement, "you're just the kind of person I wanted to help."

"I am?" An incredulous tone seeped into my voice.

"You are," she said sternly, pushing the flowers towards the edge of the counter, "how much money do you have on you?"

"Enough," I said quickly, shoving my hand into my pocket for my wallet.

She grinned, "let's just say you give me a twenty and we call it a night, huh?"

"That's not enough though," I began to argue but she shook her head.

"How about a twenty, and you promise to come back and tell me how well the arrangement worked. Trust me, that's plenty."

I threw forty on the counter.

"It's a tip," I spoke quickly, holding the vase against my chest protectively. "You-uh, you really helped. Thank you. Really."

"Anytime, kid. Do me a favor and lock that door when you leave would you?"

I locked the door, stepped outside, and hightailed it back home, being sure that the balloons were tethered down, the flowers were undamaged, and my shopping bag of cheap, unoriginal gifts remained intact.

 

My mother greeted me with a distant 'hello, Jean' as I stepped through the door, her wine glass was half empty already.

"Hey mom," I said, averting my eyes from her face. The frown lines were growing deeper, that was easy to see. Her hair was greying a the roots. Her eyes lacked any sort of luster. She made my chest squeeze. My eyes drifted past her to study the kitchen until I finally found myself focusing on picking one of the large white flowers from the mix.

"Here," I spoke in a whisper, holding the plant towards her shakily. "This one looks nicest, I think."

Her head fell to the side and curiosity overwhelmed her face. The deep sunken frown lines lightened dramatically as she stood. She extended her arm and took it hesitantly, twirling the long stem between her fingers. She watched the petals spin with a mesmerized look. "That's so nice of you," she offered a some sort of soft smile, which is probably the happiest expression she'd worn in years.

"Have a good night, alright?" I clutched the vase tighter, looking away to the top of the stairs. I felt the threat of tears, and I was not going to cry. Not then. 

She hummed in acknowledgement as she moved back into the kitchen. She knelt down to the lower cabinets, probably looking for a vase, and I took that as my cue to scurry upstairs before I found myself in any further awkward situations.

 

I went through half of that stupid fucking notebook by midnight as I tried to scrawl out countless apology notes. I'd wanted to leave all of my gifts by his window for when he woke up, apology note included. But that was not happening. My teeth ground together in frustration and my brain pounded against my skull.

"Marco," I wrote. My hand ached and my wrist begged from some sort of rest. This had to happen though. I had to do something. Anything to let him know that he deserved to be happy. "I'm sorry I was such a massive dick, man. You know I didn't mean- I mean- I'm kind of a massive dick anyway, and I guess I. Fuck. Why is everything so difficult around you."

A high pitched whine which I will never own up to or admit as my own escaped past my lips as my head fell with a heavy  _thunk_ on the wooden desk top. I tried to drag the words out of the back of my mind. The things I could never say allowed. I needed to tell him now nice he looked when he smiled. How pretty his eyes were in the sinking sun when the light caught them like it was being filtered through aged whiskey. He deserved to know that I lived to hear him speak, make him laugh, drink in his joy because it had kept me alive throughout my entire time in Trost. He needed to know, but I couldn't bring myself to tell.

I was so weak. I was spineless.

My only motivation say on the edge of my desk. Bright flowers in a massive vase. The woman who would be waiting for good news at the flower shop. I couldn't let her down too.

Letting people down was what I was good at during those times. I had to put my foot down. I had to do better.

I knew that.

But, change is hard. It's so great, but the process is overwhelming, all consuming, and quite frankly, terrifying.

I am not a man to admit my fear on a regular basis, but god damn, was I afraid of everything in that very moment. Afraid of Marco's rejection. Afraid of my crumbling home life. Afraid that I would never be more than my father, a shell of a good man filled with foul hatred and the inability to love. Afraid of disappointing the fucking flower girl with the pretty eyes and kind nature.

Afraid.

 

Eventually, I tore out a sheet of paper and wrote in large letters 'I NEED TO TALK TO YOU.'

It was a long shot, but I placed the note behind my blinds and prayed to the small-miracles-god that the neighboring boy would look outside. Just once. Just for me. From what I could see, Marco's room was dark with the exception of the light beside his bed which he kept on at all times.

I planted myself on the bedroom floor and watched the clock on the wall eagerly. My heart thumped painfully with each second that ticked down. Anxiety, fear, worry, and dread were beginning to catch up with me.

" _Do something about it_ ," Armin's voice forced away the rising demons.

As soon as the hour hand struck one in the morning, I nearly tripped over myself trying to hurry towards my window. I expected to receive no reply. I didn't deserve a reply. But, there it was. A sheet of copy paper was taped to the inside of Marco's window.

The handwriting was small and seemed shaky which was completely wrong.

'What is it, Jean?' it read.

I could almost hear the apathy bordering on anger. I knew he wanted to write 'leave me alone, Jean' or 'don't you think you've done enough, Jean', but he didn't. He was loving to a fault. Accepting of others inner demons to a point where it was painful. That's my Marco. 

'Just," I paused and scratched the word away with heavy handed strokes of the pen in my hand. I tore the paper. 'I need you to open your window.'

I replaced my sheet of paper and tried to occupy myself with forming words. I'd forgotten how to apologize. Actually apologize, I mean. I knew how to say 'sorry' I said it often. Really, I just didn't know how to mean it. Minutes passed, my self doubt grew, my stomach tied itself in knots, and my pulse beat erratically before I found what little courage it took to check his reply.

'It's open. For you, it's always open.'

 _Wellp, you've dug your grave, Kirsctein,_ the voice in my head scolded as I gathered the flowers, candy, and balloons, _now go lay in it._

I stumbled out of my room clumsily, leaving the window wide open behind me. Instantly, I was reminded of waking him that morning that felt like ages ago. I didn't know that laughing so freely, so breathlessly, so happily was even possible. With Marco, everything I'd ever lacked was possible.

Butterflies erupted in my stomach at the thought.

Carefully, I arranged the gifts along the ledge and words flooded my brain as I formed a potential rough draft for an apology. My knees felt weak and my legs felt about as strong as spaghetti noodles when I gave two soft knocks on the window's glass.

There was hesitation on both sides. The window remained firmly latched shut. I considered darting back into the safety of my own room.

That thought was cut short, though, when Marco thrust the window open a single heartbeat later, leaving us standing eye to eye, nose to nose.

I forgot how to breath.

I thought I'd been prepared for seeing him like this. His hair rumpled, face red and puffy, mouth set in a stern, disapproving line. It had seemed that I could handle seeing him in public, but getting him out into the night air like this, it was intimate, and it was ours.

I lost my composure, threw my hesitancy to the wind for once in my fucking life, and fucking did something about it.

I felt brave, just for a second, I felt so brave.

I kissed him.

I kissed him hard. Our teeth clicked painfully and we tumbled backwards into his room, resulting on me laying on top of him. I felt my face heat instantly when I realized that I had not only kissed him, but I was crying while doing it.

It didn't seem to matter though. I held his face in my hands and his fingers tangled themselves in my hair and for one fucking brilliant moment, everything fell into place. The moment was short lived when his hands trailed down to my shoulders, pushing me back slightly.

"What are you doing?" He asked in a small voice. " _Why_ are you doing this, Jean?" His throat closed and his voice broke and words plummeted from my mouth before I could ever register what I was saying. My hands held his face upright as I forced myself back onto my knees.

"I want you to listen to me, please," I began, "I don't know how to say this without sounding like every crappy teenage romance movie I've ever seen or some star crossed lover with cheesy analogies, but there's no other fucking way to put it. I need you. I need you. I fucking need you. Okay? I need you like the sun needs the moon and the sea needs the fucking shore. You keep me on the ground. You have the ability to save me from myself and my crumbling sense of self importance and my shitty house. Dude, I hate the outside so much, but I looked forward to the mosquito bites and the sleepless nights because it meant that I got to see you and your stupid freckles and your perfect smile. Getting to know you, see you, be with you, you became my life and I got scared. I panicked. I don't know what a healthy relationship looks like. I don't know what to do with feelings aside from shove them down and keep running.

All my life, I've focused on me. I've focused on self preservation. I've focused on what's best for Jean. What will help me get ahead? The very center of my being if constructed of fear and self-loathing and doubt. I'm afraid of everything. I'm afraid of letting yu go, or pushing you away, I'm scared I'll have to move again, and have to leave you and let you move on. I'm afraid I don't know how to openly adore something. I'm afraid I'll repeat my parents' mistakes. I'm so afraid of being myself and learning who I am, that I pushed you away. You opened my eyes to a side of me that should have never existed. I thought it didn't. I thought I was impossible to like. Fuck, not even my own parents are able to keep eye contact with me, yet here you are in all your fucking glory and you make me feel important.

You brought me up, and I let you down. I let you down and I am so fucking sorry. I am so sorry for everything I said and did to you. I'm sorry for pushing you away. I'm sorry for taking advantage of your kindness. But goddammit, I need you. There's no way around it. I can't make it go away. It's not something I can shove down with the other emotions. I didn't mean to assault you, but I missed this like hell, and I got overwhelmed and I-" Marco pulled me into a hug that lifted my knees off the ground.

I buried my nose into his shoulder. "You feel like home," I whispered into his skin. My voice shook violently. Breathing was irrationally difficult. I dug my bitten nails into his back. Clinging to the moment; clinging to the only salvation I'd ever known. He was my anchor. God, I had thought I needed Armin because he acted like a friend should. I thought he'd be all I ever needed.

I was so wrong.

When someone is given the opportunity to meet someone like Marco Bodt, they are forced to reevaluate everything they've ever valued, because that person becomes their number one priority. They beam like the sun. Life sustaining and ever present and so beyond needed.   

I felt him exhale slowly. The grip he had on me tightened. 

"You're ridiculous," he muttered into my hair, fingers digging into my sides, "you're so absolutely ridiculous, Jean Kirschtein."

"Thanks, man."

With a quiet chuckle, Marco placed a kiss on my forehead. "Anytime. I'm always here for your fragile ego."

"It's not that fragile," I quipped.

Marco laughed, leaning back on his hands, "Jean, fragile is putting it nicely."

I scowled, pulling away from him to hang out of the window, "you didn't even let me give you your gifts."

"My fault, I didn't mean for you to assault me like that," he said, child-like eyes glued to me while I pulled the vase inside.

"I know you're not a chick," I said defensively, hugging the vase, "you don't have to like flowers, I mean you can give them to your mom or whatever. They're girly. Sorry."

He rolled his eyes. "You have such a way with words." Pulling them from my grasp, he smirked and placed them on the nightstand. "They're perfect," he spoke softly and surely, arranging to petals with delicate touches until they were arranged to his liking. He turned back to me with eyes softened by the threat of tears.

Unable to hold myself back, I held his face between two shaking hands and kissed him again with less ferocious abruptness. 

He reacted instantly, hands roaming along my back, gripping my neck and the small of my back.

I hadn't known two people could be so close both physically and emotionally, but there we were, making out like the horny, needy teenagers we were, shirts stripped away by trembling hands. We laid in his floor for hours doing nothing of any importance. He laughed, talked, kissed, and touched until dawn began breaking and we both drifted off there in each others arms.

 

I was awoken by a new kind of unfamiliar sound. It was laughter. I didn't know people laughed in the morning. I didn't know people laughed at home at all, really. That was a foreign concept in itself.

I cracked my eyes slowly, glaring into the harsh light which came through the opened window. When my vision adjusted, I found myself staring wide eyed at the small woman who leaned against Marco's wooden door frame with crossed arms and a warm smile. 

Sleep left me in an instant as I bolted upright. "M-Mrs. Bodt?"

My voice cracked and my face and neck burned like fire. My eyes darted around the room until they rested on Marco's still heavily sleeping figure. He really could sleep through anything. I sighed fondly.

His mother nodded from the open door, the laughter lines around her eyes became more visible as she smiled. "Mr. Kirtschtein."

"I-" I snaked my hand to the back of my neck and rubbed slowly, "I can explain."

I really needed water. And the ability to teleport the fuck out of there. 

She waved the comment away with a limp hard gesture. "No need, if I had to live in that household" he tilted her head towards our neighboring house, "I'd look for any form of escape as well. Especially if it was with my son."

Impossibly, my face became even warmer. I squirmed under her fond gaze. "Feel free to go back to sleep, dear, I was just coming up to see if Marco wanted any breakfast. Of course, that's an open invitation to you as well."

"What time is it, if you don't mind, Mrs. Bodt?"

"Call me, Leandra." She flipped her plump wrist around and studied the watch there intently, "it's 8:20 on a beautiful Saturday morning."

"Saturday," I repeated, "do you mind if I-" I pointed to the ground, "do you mind if I just lay here for a bit?"

She giggled. I wanted to grow accustomed to that noise. I hoped their happiness was contagious. "Of course the bed is also an option, but yes. Lay for as long as you like. The kitchen is open for whenever you'd like to eat. Have a good morning."

She spun around and closed to door with a small smile and a shake of the head.

 

I sighed in relief when she'd finally left and gently poked my finger into Marco's side once we had been left alone. 

"Hey, Marco." I whispered, working my way up to poking his cheek. "Marco, wake up"

He grumbled irritably and weakly swatted at my fingers. 

I sighed and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth to which his eyes cracked open only slightly.

"Good morning," I smiled, carding my fingers through his mussed hair.

I'd never been very touchy, but I needed to know he was real. I wanted conformation that the whole situation was real.

The realness was confirmed when he pulled me over to straddle his lap and peppered my skin with chaste kisses.

I wrapped my arms around his neck, and his arms found their way around my waist. We sat like that for a long while; just us and the rising sun. The only slight interruption we encountered was the familiar sound of a slamming door downstairs. I winced.  

He ran the pad of his thumb along my lower lip slowly. "It's just mom taking my brothers to a dentist appointment."

"She left us alone?" I found myself whispering.

His face contorted before a deep pink blush consumed his tanned complexion. "She knows you're here?"

I nodded, accompanied by a soft sound of affirmation.

He seemed to contemplate the information for a second before he smiled his usual cheery grin. "Well, then I guess she did."

 

Things started slowly. There were wandering touches which led to curious kisses in uncharted territories along one anothers' bodies. Inevitably, we found ourselves in the same situation as the night previous, except we had kept some of our dignity and had relocated to the comfort of his pillow top bed. 

We were cautious and unpracticed, but that added to the thrill.

I found that my boldness from the night before had retreated as I pinned him beneath my hips, kissing and biting at his neck. I found myself rutting against him with caution and barely masked embarrassment.

When he moaned my name and gripped my hips, though, that fearless need to please the man beneath me returned tenfold. 

"Marco," I whispered faintly, trailing kisses along his spotted skin.

He shivered when my hand made contact between his legs, and released a needy whine as he arched his back into the touch. I smirked, gaining confidence with every bit of encouragement he lent me. 

"Is this okay?" I asked softly, fingertips brushing just beneath the waistband of his pants.

He grunted as a form of response, lifting his hips as an invitation to remove them. I accepted it eagerly, tugging the extra fabric away with ease. When he was nearly fully exposed, only boxers covered his pride, that feverish blush returned. He chewed on his bottom lip and reached for a hand to hold.

I studied his eyes with deep interest.

"You're sure this is okay? Marco, I need you to be honest."

He set his jaw and locked his gaze on the ceiling before meeting my eyes with a new intensity. 

"Keep going."

Well, he didn't have to fucking tell me twice.

I was complete idiot when it came to relationships, but I did know what felt good, and that was enough to keep me going. 

The panting and moaning coming from Marco was a symphony I wanted to admire forever as I stroked his length firmly. 

The sense of accomplishment that flooded by entire being when he came was a bonus. I'd never really been proud of anything I'd ever done, but, in that moment, not a single person would have been able to tear that feeling of pride-filled joy away from me.

Marco jerked me onto the bed without warning. There was a hunger in his eyes despite the bags that hung heavily below them. "Your turn." He growled.

"What? No, I-"

Marco wasn't listening, but then again, I wasn't fighting the notion with very much power either.

Any argument that was on my lips fell away when I felt his on my prick. That's enough to end any sort of argument I think.

I didn't last very long. I was actually pretty shameful as far as stamina is concerned, but, fuck, we were so elated and past gone that neither of us cared.

We laid wrapped around each other until the sun had fully risen and both of our stomachs demanded attention with irritable grumbles and growls. Marco was the first to stand and wander through the house.

I stayed firmly rooted in place until he returned with a towel draped low around his waist, wet hair ruffled.

"Go take a shower, he instructed, pointing down the hall. Then we can go and make something to eat, yeah?"

"Yeah, okay." I shrugged past him, blushing furiously, and sat in the bathroom for a long while. I tried to collect myself. I tried to ease my breathing. I tried to fight away the warmth on my face and neck. Most importantly, I tried to wipe the stupid fucking smile off my face.

I succeeded in none of those things. 

 

Marco had prepared a simple lunch, but it was more than enough to curb my appetite. I never really ate much anyway, and when I did it was a microwavable dinner that had probably been sitting in the freezer since the Ice Age.

I wasn't used to being cooked for. No matter how simple eggs and toast was to make, I was touched.

We ate in relative silence, only commenting on the ridiculous animated show on the television.

It was comfortable.

We were happy.

He was home. I had never been more sure of anything in my life. 


End file.
